but it's not safe and I can feel him slipping away, so I just get out one more sentence. "Stay with me." As the tendrils of sleep syrup pull me down, I hear him whisper a word back but I don't catch it.

And there I am, blushing and confused, made beautiful by Cinna’s hands, desirable by Peeta’s confession, tragic by circumstance, and by all accounts, unforgettable.

My mouth has gone dry as sawdust. I desperately find Cinna in the crowd and lock eyes with him. I imagine the words coming from his lips. 'What's impressed you most since you arrived here?' I rack my brain for something that made me happy here. Be honest, I think. Be honest.

I carefully lay out the provisions. One thin black sleeping bag that reflects body heat. A pack of crackers. A pack of dried beef strips. A bottle of iodine. A box of wooden matches. A small coil of wire. A pair of sunglasses. And a half-gallon plastic bottle with a cap for carrying water that's bone dry. No water. How hard would it have been for them to fill up the bottle?

I guess this is a bad time to mention I hung a dummy and painted Seneca Crane's name on it.

It sends out a very clear message: "Mess with us and we'll do something worse than kill you. We'll kill your children.

I've spent so much time making sure I don't underestimate my opponents that I've forgotten it's just as dangerous to overestimate them as well.